CJ-0066 was four standard years old, and looked twice that. He wore a white Jedi robe, and held the same standardised lightsabre as his brothers, constructed the same way (the image of a small white room with one hundred identical little boys sitting in it, hunched over one hundred identical desks with one hundred identical sets of parts, all of them struggling to use the power that surged through their veins to try and feel the right way to assemble their weapons, came to 0066 in a flash but he put it down), with very minor differences. 0066, for example, used a blue lightsabre like many of his brothers (the crystal seemed to speak to him, telling him of the justice he and it, together, would impart), where several dozen of his brothers preferred green, several used yellow and a handful even used violet. One clone had even managed to create a white bladed sabre. Naturally several other clones mocked him for it, but gently. There was no malice in this Jedi army, which, as you can imagine, made their Jedi Master very proud.
Varrus Flint had proven himself more than a capable teacher. In fact, he had proven himself a standard against which clones would constantly test themselves. The man was tireless. Well, maybe not tireless - in the two years the Jedi knight had been training Clones, his hair had begun to streak with grey, mainly from the stress of teaching one hundred clones the ways of the Force. Other than that though, he had remained pretty much the same, and had taken to training the clones with a gusto that each and every one of them was grateful for.
0066 was currently sparring with 0065, a brother who, although he was close in number, 0066 just didn't know that well. He regretted that, but regrets got you nowhere. Practice did.
65 was a good duelist, but he was a little heavy handed, and slow, treating the sabre as he had the training swords - i.e., much heavier than lightsabres. 65 didn't take advantage of the lightness of the sabre. He also barely used the Force, relying more on inbuilt reflexes to block strikes. This served 66 well, as he was able to run rings around his slower opponent. He blocked another heavy strike, then launched a series of faster strikes which threw his brother off balance, before finally disarming 65. 65 stepped back, raising his arms and smiling.
"Nice one," he said appreciatively.
From behind them, someone started clapping, and 65 and 66 turned to see Flint walking up to them. The Jedi smiled.
"65, isn't it?" he said to the defeated clone.
"Yes, Master Flint," the clone bowed to the Jedi. Flint shook his head.
"No bowing. I trust you've learned your lesson for today?" he asked. 65 nodded.
"To take better advantage of the sabre and the Force, Master," he said. Flint nodded.
"Well done," he said to 65. "Defeat in the practice arena is only truly defeat if you learn nothing from it. Now go practice elsewhere."
65 bowed again, causing Flint to roll his eyes, and walked away. The Jedi turned, and looked at 66, who stood ramrod straight. He smiled at the clone, who then relaxed fractionally.
"Some interesting manoeuvres there, boy," he said.
"I took advantage of my opponents weakness, Master," 66 replied. Flint nodded slowly, a smile developing on his face.
"I know you did, but you also used a mostly improvised model of one of the more advanced forms of lightsabre combat," the Jedi noted. "That's something to be impressed by."
"Is it, sir?" the clone asked softly. "Others have won fights."
"Yes indeed," Flint said. "But to naturally begin channelling a more advanced form is most impressive, young one."
He looked around. The other clones were still sparring, many of them improvising moves as 66 had dine, although most of them stayed within the confines of the first form. The difference between them and 66 was that 66 had stepped beyond the box: a rare feat for a clone of any kind, even these Jedi clones.
"I think it's time we started training you first batchers in more advanced styles," Flint said after a moment, more to himself than to 66. "Go find another sparring partner," Flint ordered, and 66 went off to do so. Flint sighed, and began walking: he decided to go find Nao Sar to discuss initialising the next stage of training.
In the two years of training clones, he had learned a lot about them. One: they were heavily militarised, although that was primarily the Kaminoan's fault: they had created films detailing the rumours that circulated about Jedi life - the less sordid, disgusting, and downright malicious rumours which, obviously, were untrue - and training - which ranged from the kriffing obvious, such as meditation and remote training, to the totally mad, mainly in the form of "theoretical applications of Force ability" (Flint had yet to try flying, which was one of the things he was apparently "theoretically" capable of doing). All these holos had repeatedly stressed how limited and probably unreliable some of this information was, and how when "the Jedi" began teaching them, his information would supersede anything the holos said, which was a good thing to add, as Flint had a lot of superseding to do.
Two: they knew a lot about fighting. Despite their only source of information being half degraded holos from centuries ago as reference for lightsabre training, they knew their stuff, and the Kaminoans had made the most of the holos: diagrams and analyses aside, the clones had come out with some fairly astute questions: questions the Jedi would not gave been able to answer were it not for his time using the holocron.
Three; the kids were smart. No clone ever made a mistake twice. No clone ever made another clone's mistake. Clones adapted. They improvised. Flint believed that soon enough, there would come a day when the clones could beat him. He looked forward to it. It would mean he had succeeded. Succeeding was good.
Flint sighed and went back to his room to meditate. Meditation was a good thing. It allowed him to heal his body of pains and aches developed over the day. It also allowed him to focus in on precisely what genetic manipulation had been performed on him.
He had not approached the Kaminoans regarding what had been done to him, mainly because he could not truly be certain that it was them who had done it. They were the likely suspects it was true, but not the only ones. Besides which, alienating them would serve no purpose at this juncture.
He entered his room, knelt, and began meditating.
The following week, the Jedi clones were told that they had to pick a lightsabre form to specialise is. Being clones, they weren't used to being given a choice about anything. Many opted to continue training in Form I, Shii-Cho, and Flint, who was supervising the choosing, was not surprised. They could change their minds later, and even if they didn't the first form would work well enough for them.
Many clones elected to choose to learn Niman, the sixth form. Flint was pleased by this: all rounding was, in his mind, wise. However, he also noted with interest - and not a small amount of pride - the fact that every form had clones going for it. This was good: the more varied the fighting styles the army selected here, the better it would be for them in the long run.
With that, he had assigned each of the seven groups of clones a holocron that would tell them precisely how to begin learning a form. He trusted them all by now to learn by themselves. They all knew where he was.
He turned, and headed for the exit, only for Nao Sar to arrive in the training room as he was leaving.
"Master Jedi," he said, smiling in greeting. "I trust all is going well?"
"As well as can be expected, Minister," the Jedi replied, bowing. "The teacher teaches, the students learn."
"Excellent," the Kaminoan said. "I'm sorry to have to say, we require further samples of your genetic structure today."
Flint bowed, accepting this, and accompanied the Kaminoan Minister from the training room.
"That the students progress so quickly is surely a testament to your greatness as a Jedi," Nao Sar said as the two walked down the corridors.
"It is a testament to nothing but their own skill," Flint replied. "I'm merely a guide."
"Your humbleness in the face of your success is laudable, but you have justified our faith in your skills," the Minister said as they approached the lab. Flint said nothing as they entered, and sighed when they began the procedure to put him under. Ja Nei looked at him, and then he began to lose consciousness.
He hated this part.
"I'll stay with you forever, Varrus."
"Never leave me."
"Master Windu requires volunteers for a mission."
NO!
"I'll never leave you, Varrus."
But she had, hadn't she? Shed left him years ago and now here he was... alone.
Talking to himself.
"A testament to your greatness as a Jedi."
What greatness might that be, Minister Nao Sar? The greatness of a man who failed the one time it mattered? What kind of a greatness was that? What kind of great was he?
When he woke up and had returned to his room, he closed his eyes and sighed.
He would be a long time healing. He was glad that his life was limited to only a few decades. Were he one of Yoda's race maybe, with this pain and a millennia to contemplate it, he would go mad...
"All modifications appear to be working at peak efficiency," Ja Nei reported.
"Thank goodness," Nao Sar said, sighing in relief. "With his hair, I thought he had rejected the modifications, or somehow shut them off."
"The hair is merely a sign of stress," Ja Nei assured the Minister. "The suspension of Master Flint's ageing was completely successful."
Nao Sar nodded and left without another word. The Jedi was doing an excellent job. It would have been a shame if old age had been allowed to claim him. This way, he would continue teaching for generations to come.
Much more productive.